


Borrowed Scars

by yeahImprettyawesome



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:05:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeahImprettyawesome/pseuds/yeahImprettyawesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One whispered spell, one slice at skin, and the blood flows, taking the pain with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Borrowed Scars

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for HP Mental Health Fest 2015 on livejournal.

Draco can't sleep because of the nightmares, but he doesn't want to be awake either, because reality only serves to show him that they were true.  
  
Sitting up in frustration, he glances beside him where Harry slumbers on peacefully. Despite his own inability to get knocked out for the night, he's glad that, albeit five years after the war, at least Harry is slowly starting to leave his demons behind.  
He decides that a glass of water -or maybe something stronger-would not be amiss, and with a kiss to Harry's forehead, leaves the bed to head over to the kitchen.  
  


* * *

  
  
Draco's hands are shaking as he performs  _Aguamenti_ , remembering scenes from his dream that he can't force out of his head. One particularly vivid image of Nagini lunging at him causes him to drop the glass he's holding beneath his wand and it shatters at his feet.  
  
The sound makes him jump, and he can only hope that it didn't wake Harry.  
  
He crouches to pick up the shards, and a particularly jagged piece slices his finger open.  
  
"Fuck." He mumbles, but before he can perform a healing spell, he realizes that although it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, it actually feels liberating in a twisted way, good, even. It's like all the panic, anxiety and fear trapped inside his body has found an outlet through that tiny incision on his finger. He feels lighter than he has in months.  
  
He watches the blood run the length of his finger, along the glass piece he's still holding absent-mindedly as he mulls over this new discovery. The cut is not deep and the blood stops flowing quickly. Experimentally, he pushes the splinter further into the cut, to coax out more blood. Sure enough, the feeling of air pressing down on him recedes with each drop of blood leaving him.  
  


* * *

  
The next morning Harry prepares breakfast while Draco’s in the shower. Draco seems worse for wear lately, and he hopes, as little as it may be, it will be one less stress for Draco. Remind him that he’s not alone; he can talk to Harry anytime.  
  
He smiles when Draco appears, toweling at his hair.  
  
“Morning.”  
  
Draco looks a little better this morning and even smiles slightly as he accepts mug of coffee from Harry. But before he pulls away, Harry notices a scar on his finger that definitely wasn’t there last night. He grabs Draco’s hand, nearly making him spill the coffee.  
  
“Harry, be careful!” Draco chides harshly, and pulls away from his reach.  
  
“Sorry.” Harry apologizes. “What happened to your hand, Draco?”  
  
Draco’s eyes widen slightly before he sets the mug down to look at his finger where Harry’s gaze is fixed. “Nothing. Just a small mishap with glass. Don’t fret over it.”  
  
But he seems far too shifty for Harry to not doubt him.  
  
“Well then, here, let me heal it properly-” He reaches to take Draco’s hand once again.  
  
“No!” Draco shouts as he recoils, cradling his hand to his chest. Harry is taken aback at Draco’s sudden aversion to touch. “Draco, what- It’ll scar permanently if you don’t heal it right, I’m just trying to help-”  
  
Draco cuts him off. “Yes, I know. Sorry about the outburst. I-I’ve got to get to the hospital now, I’ll see you tonight.”  
  
And he all but flees from the kitchen, where Harry stands frowning as Draco’s “Don’t worry, I’ll heal it myself!” floats in the air.  
  


* * *

  
  
St. Mungo’s is as busy as ever, and Draco is extremely thankful about this; he doesn’t want to think about this morning’s events if he can help it. Nevertheless, Harry’s concerned face floats in and out of his thoughts as he walks the halls of the Spell Damage wing to look at his newest patient.  
  
As soon as he walks into the examination room, he catches the medley of expressions on his patient’s face, starting with shock and finally settling on disgust, and he knows this will be a difficult session. In any case, he’s determined to act professionally.  
  
“What seems to be the problem?” He asks in the most polite-but-detached tone he can muster.  
  
“What? You can’t be my healer!” The old witch snarls. “I demand to see another healer!”  
  
“I’m sorry, Ma’m, but everyone is busy at the moment. I’m the only healer available. Now, if you could-”  
  
“Get away from me, Death Eater!” She shrieks as Draco attempts to move closer to the bed. “Don’t you dare come near me! You think I don’t know the likes of you! Bewitching the savior and thinking you can get away, you should be in Azkaban, like your no-good father-”  
  
Draco clenches his hands around his clipboard and forces the words out of his mouth. “Whatever your personal feelings about me may be, I am still a qualified healer. If you will cooperate with me, this will be over faster.”  
  
The witch stares at him for a moment, then spits at his feet and walks off. The clipboard snaps in Draco’s hands.  
  


* * *

     
                                                                      
Draco likes his job, he really does; it’s the people he can’t stand.  
  
Patients like the old hag from this morning shook him far more than he’d care to admit and far too abundant for him to act indifferent.  
  
Then, there’s the case of his colleagues, vocal and scathing in their criticism. Which is why he’s glad to be safely ensconced in his office during lunch hour, away from them all.  
  
He picks at his food half-heartedly; his thoughts are dominated with hisses of “Death Eater scum” and “You shouldn’t be alive”. He rolls up the left sleeve of his robes and glares hatefully at the serpent twining through a skull.  
  
How he wishes it would just disappear...maybe it can. He holds his wand, pointing it at the mark and a cutting curse rolls off his tongue. Gashes appear, slicing through the mark.  
  
He doesn’t stop until the inside of his wrist is a mangled mess and he feels light-headed from blood loss.  
  


* * *

  
  
“Hey!” Harry smiles when he walks out of the floo and finds Draco lounging on the couch with a tome.  
  
“Hello to you too.” Draco reaches up and Harry pecks him on the lips, hands travelling through soft blonde hair and further below until- “You’re wearing a  _sweater_?” Harry incredulously as he pulls back.  
  
“I was cold.” Draco replies flatly.  
  
“Draco, it’s the height of summer! I’m sweating like a pig here and you’re  _cold_?”   
  
“Well, I am.” Draco says sharply.   
  
Harry’s grin falters a bit at the tone, but he shakes it off easily. “Must be all that delicate Malfoy skin. Anyhow, you don’t need a sweater, I’ve plenty of ways to keep you warm.” He grins lecherously at Draco and moves forward for another kiss. His hands toy with the hem of Draco’s sweater and he’s halfway through pulling it off when Draco pushes him away.  
  
“What? What’s wrong?” Harry asks, bewildered.  
  
“I just-I’m not-I’ve work to do.”  
  
“Oh, well, sure. I’ll just go take a shower.” Harry smiles uncertainly and leaves.  
  


* * *

  
  
Draco takes a deep breath. The cuts from the day are scabbing over. It won’t do at all for Harry to see them.  
  


* * *

  
  
Within three weeks, Draco is sporting scars up to his shoulders, and is running out of space. He decides that his thighs are next.  
  
Harry has not seen him without clothes once during this time.  
  


* * *

  
  
“I mean-I don’t know what to do ‘Mione!” Harry buries his hands into his hair.  
  
“Oh, Harry.” Hermione says. “Maybe it’s just a case of simple miscommunication.”  
  
“Miscommunication? It’s more like ‘no communication’! He won’t talk to me, he won’t even let me come near him!” Harry nearly cries. “Yesterday I walked into the bathroom while he was showering, he went barmy! Four years we’ve been together, Hermione! How can he not trust me?”  
  
“I’m sure he does. I know that my advice is pretty useless, but you shouldn’t give up on trying to talk to him.” Hermione says soothingly as she runs her hand over Harry’s back.  
  
Harry heaves a sigh. “Alright then, I’ve got to get going now. Thanks for listening to me rant.”  
  
Hermione gives him a soft smile. “Anytime, Harry. That’s what friends are for: when your boyfriend gets pissy.” She laughs when Harry frowns at her.  
  
“I’m just kidding, Harry. You know I’m fond of Draco. And hey, listen to me. I know you guys love each other. It’ll work out.”  
  
Harry smiles the best he can with worry gnawing at his guts and disapparates after a final hug from Hermione.  
  
“Draco? Are you in?” He calls as he materializes in the living room. The flat is silent, which is odd, because it’s a Saturday and Draco stays in on the weekends. Harry doesn’t remember Draco mentioning an extra shift. Of course, Draco has  _not_  been mentioning a lot of stuff to him lately.  
  
He ponders on as he walks around the apartment in search of Draco. The kitchen yields no reward; neither does the balcony, the bedroom or the guest room.  
  
“Draco! I know you’re around because your coat’s still on the rack, the one which you never leave without. Come on now, this is rapidly becoming unfunny and creepier!” Harry calls, feeling like an idiot. “Alright, this is the only place left!” He says as he swings open the bathroom door. “Gotcha, you prat, I’ve half a mind to-”  
  
The words stop in his throat as he looks inside. Draco is in the bathroom, all right, but instead of water, he lies in a pool of red, red blood, unconscious.  
  
His wand is clasped loosely in his right hand and on his naked thighs there are scars, so many of them. Some scabbed over, some not-so-much and above his left knee are a set of new ones, the ones that bled out.  
  
His shirt is soaked through with red but the trousers hang neatly on a peg.  
  
Harry fights the urge to vomit, there are more important things to do now, like the alarming and ever-increasing amount of blood on the bathroom tiles  _Oh god why is it always a fucking bathroom_ \- Harry forces himself to focus and tries to lift Draco’s limp body off the floor, dragging, dragging, him upright before apparating as fast as he can without splinching Draco.  
  


* * *

  
  
The healer’s words are hitting Harry like waves and he feels like drowning because he doesn’t want to hear things like  _multiple lacerations on the chest, arms and thighs_  and _self harm_  and  _an attempt gone wrong_  and  _lost a lot of blood_. He feels a hand grasping his shoulder and turns to face Ron.  
  
He’s never been as grateful as when Ron pulls him into a hug.  
  


* * *

  
  
It’s far too bright. Draco realizes he’s not in his bathroom- not even is his flat- anymore even before he opens his eyes. When his eyes do adjust to the excess light, he tries to glean more about his surroundings. Uncomfortable bed, white sheets, bleached walls and dull paintings. He’s at St. Mungo’s then.  
  
Harry’s here too. Dozing in a chair, head and hands sprawling over Draco’s bed- wait, bed? He removes the sheet covering his body and sees that nearly his entire body is swathed in bandages. His hands, chest, even his thighs. All the places he cut himself.  
  
“Well, fuck.” Is his last thought before he slips out of consciousness again.  
  


* * *

  
  
The next time Draco wakes up, his head is clearer and Harry is no longer asleep. He’s just staring at Draco’s arms with such anguish on his face that all Draco wants to do is hold him and wipe those bloodshot eyes. His hands must have twitched instinctually, because the next second Harry is looking up at his face.  
  
The pained expression is still there, but it’s now masked by incredible fury.  
  
“Hey.” Draco croaks out.  
  
“Fuck you.” Harry replies.  
  
Draco flinches and then Harry is burying his face into Draco’s shoulder and Draco can feel warm tears sliding off his skin.  
  
“What the fuck is this, Draco?” Harry whispers brokenly against his throat. Draco tries to come up with an acceptable answer. He can’t.  
  
Harry lifts his head from Draco’s shoulder and glares at him. “How long has this been going on?”  
  
Draco looks away. “How long, Draco?” Harry demands again.  
  
“A-about three weeks.” Draco tries to keep his voice as soft as possible in the hope that maybe Harry won’t hear him.  
  
“Three weeks?! Three weeks you’ve been doing this shite and I-” Harry’s voice is growing louder and it’s hurting Draco’s ears, but he won’t tell Harry to stop, of course not, he completely deserves this. Nevertheless, he feels glad when a familiar clear voice cuts Harry off.  
  
“Harry, calm down.” Draco’s mum says as she sits in a vacant chair next to Harry’s. “I understand your anger, but you need to be calm. Go take a walk.”  
  
Harry looks like he wants to protest, but after a last glance at Draco, leaves the room.  
  
Draco only stops watching the doorway Harry disappeared out of when he feels his mother’s hands in his hair.  
  
“My darling, idiot boy.” She says softly as she takes him into her arms and all his tears are finally free to fall.  
  


* * *

  
  
Harry takes the longest walk of his life. He’s so fucking angry and hurt and worried and a million other things. He goes back to Draco’s room only when he’s sure he doesn’t want to punch something.  
  
Narcissa is gone, and Draco is pretending to read a magazine.  
  
“We need to talk.” He says as he takes his place in a chair that has become painfully familiar.  
  
“I know.” Draco replies.  
  
“Let’s start then.” Harry says, but doesn’t speak further.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Draco finally whispers.  
  
“That’s not going to be enough.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Fuck, you know what it was like? I came home and the bathroom looks like a murder scene. There was so much blood, Draco. I nearly thought you’d-” Harry stops. He knows they’re both thinking of another incident a lifetime ago.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Draco repeats, because really, there is little else to say.  
  
“Why’d you do it?”  
  
“I-I don’t know.”  
  
“Bullshit.”  
  
“I can’t explain.”  
  
“Try anyway.”  
  
Draco heaves a sigh. “It’s like this big ball of pain and anger and all these negative feelings inside your body. And all you want is something to take your mind off of them and the-the cuts did that.”  
  
They are both silent for a while after Draco finishes.  
  
Harry finally breaks the silence. “I don’t condone it. I downright hate this, but, I think I understand.” He gets up from the chair and sits on the side of Draco’s bed.  
  
“I love you.” Harry says as he guides Draco’s head to rest on his chest. “I can’t lose you, do you hear me?”  
  
He feels Draco nod slightly beneath his chin. “Don’t you know that each time you hurt yourself, I get hurt as well? All these cuts on you…are mine too. Just because they’re not seen doesn’t mean they’re not here.”  
  
Now he can feel his shirt getting wet. He guides Draco’s face upwards to look him in the eye. “I need you. Don’t scare me like this again, yeah?” Draco nods again and Harry kisses him softly.  
  
There are a lot more things to talk about, to be heard, to be said, but they can wait for now.

 

  
  
**Epilogue (About eight months later)**  
  
They’re sitting on the floor, holding goblets of butter beer and slices of cheesecake, laughing about something ridiculously silly.  
  
It’s their little celebration after Draco’s last appointment with the Mind Healer.  
  
It’s taken them a lot of work and time, to get here, to be  _okay_ , and it’s going to take a lot more to get to  _good_ , but right now,  _okay_  is good.  
  
 **End**


End file.
